


No Stranger Would it Be

by Linquist



Series: All You Have is Your Fire [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22062295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linquist/pseuds/Linquist
Summary: One shots from the perspective of various canon characters while Cara and Rory try to survive in the 75th Hunger Games.Part of the All You Have is Your Fire/The First Rebel universe. Will not make much sense on its own. Will also include spoilers for the fic, but I won't post anything ahead of where TFR is at.
Relationships: Gale Hawthorne/Original Female Character(s), Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Series: All You Have is Your Fire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1510754
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	1. Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> I have been writing several pieces from other perspectives than Cara's to help me make sense of her world. They don't fit anywhere else in the main fic, so I thought I'd put them here.
> 
> My version of the viewing center is heavily inspired by FernWithy’s End of the World Series - which is my all-time favorite Hunger Games fan fiction and I cannot recommend highly enough and will continue to throw at people until the day I die. Sometimes I forget whether something is canon or just from her fics.

The Mentor’s viewing center was a plain, unadorned room counting two rows of six tables. Each comfortably sat 3-4, contained two screens which focused on each of the District Tributes, a phone for calling sponsors, and faced a large screen which played the Capitol’s footage of the Games. Each table and each chair was on wheels, designed so that allied Districts could connect them and coordinate. It was a windowless room with gray walls and gray floors which sat in the basement of the viewing center. It was a lifeless, miserable place.

The viewing center also stands as one of Haymitch’s least favorite places in the world. Until last year’s Games, he usually only had to stay there until his tributes died; which was usually early and usually violently. Whereupon he would leave, usually joined by Chaff (who was also usually sans tributes by then) and drink until they blacked out for the remainder of the Games.

Last year had been both horrible and elating. As time went on and it became more apparent that one of his kids might make it this time, he was torn between a desperate, sickening hope and wanting to rip off the skin of his face. It was the first time he had ever had to sit through all of the Games in a decade.

When the Quell was announced, he figured he wouldn’t be sitting through most of it. But he wouldn’t be able to drink if he was going to help Katniss through the aftermath. Or the Rebellion with their plans.

Over the last week in the Capitol, seeing Cara, Haymitch had another new experience of his own: Cara had the best chances out of any tribute he had ever had - besides Katniss - of surviving. But she clearly had no intention of doing so. On the one year he _knew_ he had a chance to bring home both of them.

Before dawn on the morning of the 75th Hunger Games, the mentors returned to the viewing center for the first time in a year. It was a mostly quiet affair, outside of whispers and murmurs between a few. Most were focused on setting up their tables, making sure their tablets for sponsors were ready, and steeling themselves for what was to come. 

Katniss and Peeta were both especially silent themselves, both pale and gray. Peeta was not officially a mentor this year - Haymitch had volunteered for that role. But he was not about to leave; either for Katniss or for Cara and Rory.

“How long do you think your princess will last, Haymitch?” 

Brutus’s crowing voice cracked open the silence of the room and Haymitch ignored him, staring straight ahead.

“See, I was betting she wouldn’t make it past the bloodbath,” the District Two mentor grins, strolling over to their table. “But I said the same thing about Pretty Boy last year.”

He tosses a derisive look at Peeta, who stares straight ahead at the Capitol footage currently being displayed - Claudius Templesmith and a popular actress discussing previous arenas and fan theories about what this year’s would be.

“He didn’t really earn it, I suppose, but maybe that’s your girls strategy. Who is she going to fuck to survive this year? The boy seems a bit young to me.”

At this, Katniss stands, expression twisting in a sneer. 

“Watch your mouth,” she snaps. 

“Or what, little girl?” Brutus asks with a raised eyebrow. “What are you going to do here?”

Katniss looks down at the table like she is contemplating grabbing the cords for the screens and strangling him with it, but Enobaria calls over first.

“Brutus, don’t be crude,” she drawls. “They’ll be turning on the screens in a moment.”

Peeta places a hand on Katniss’s elbow and, slowly, she sits.

“It’s not worth it,” he mumbles. 

“Brutus is an idiot,” Haymitch grunts. “You either ignore him or you lose his mind.”

“He’s disgusting,” she hisses.

“I’m not disagreeing with you, sweetheart.”

Over at the Four table, Finnick nods with a roll of his eyes. Mags is present as mentor, Annie present in the tower but absent from the viewing center. Though Haymitch is dubious how effective Mags can be here - she never fully recovered from that stroke - he knows neither of them will let Annie anywhere near this place.

From the five table, Gwinn, the female mentor, casts a glance between Finnick and Haymitch.

“Think the alliance will hold up?” She asks.

All three districts know what Gwinn is really asking and look at Haymitch expectantly: will Cara stick with them?

“Cara will stick with Rory and if she thinks they’re Rory’s best bet, she’ll stick with them,” Haymitch states, staring straight ahead.

“It’s time,” Chaff says from the table next to them. The screens in front of them all turn on - showing their tributes stepping onto their plates.

His voice is strained hollow. He has a niece and a nephew in the arena this year. A few tables down, Cecilia takes a shuddering breath. She is the only parent in the room and no one - not even Brutus - seems willing to target her. 

“Lyssa’s smart,” Woof says, squeezing Cecilia’s hands. “She’ll be okay.”

“She’d be better off if Twelve didn’t reject her alliance,” Cecilia says, a harsh gaze cast to their table.

None of them take the bait. None of them blame her.

Then they take a closer look at Cara, whose clenching Cinna’s hands until the glass cuts them off. She has once split second of panic, closes her eyes, and then her composure is in place.

“Damn it, Cinna,” Haymitch sighs looking at her.

“What did he do to her hair?” Peeta frowns.

“She probably wanted it gone,” Katniss observes. “It makes sense tactically.”

“Cinna’s going to get his wrists slapped,” Seeder observes. “It’s an unwritten rule. The girls are supposed to keep their hair - especially the pretty ones.”

Haymitch chooses not to mention that Cinna is in deep for several others things besides Cara’s hair, focusing instead on the tribute screens in front of them.

They are rising up now. Rory is trembling slightly, but with a ferocious, stubborn look on his face. Cara possesses the same eery calm Haymitch has come to recognize as her anxiety’s cover.

The arena comes into view on the large screen and Haymitch says several words that should not be said in front of children, but he isn’t alone.

“Fucking favortism,” Brutus snarls. 

“You’re not the only ones screwed,” Seeder snaps. 

“Do either of them even know how to swim?” Katniss demands with wide eyes.

Rory’s jaw has dropped and his eyes are wide. His screen reports his medical information in the top right and his heart rate is elevated out of control.

The footage of individual tributes is poor - no good angles where they stand in the middle of the water - but Cara looks almost _elated_. She crouches to touch the water, touching it to her tongue.

“Idiot,” Haymitch mutters, but she nods and stands so he assumes it isn’t poisonous - or if it is, it's certainly slow acting. But her vitals remain normal, and she seems to be readying herself. She has the advantage - being on the side closest to the mouth of the cornucopia, while both Rory and the District Four tributes are on the opposite side.

“Come on, don’t do it,” he growls.

Katniss and Peeta are both clenching the arms of their chairs. 

“Haymitch, I understand now,” Peeta says, watching Cara eye the weapons that are still fifty yards away from her.

“You don’t know shit yet, kid,” he growls and the gong sounds.

Only two forms immediately dive into the water - Cara and Kol. Kol cuts through the water quicker, reaching the nearest spike of land seconds before Cara does. But Cara has far less distance to cover. Penn, previously frozen in panic, is next - diving to follow after Kol.

Mag makes distressed noises Haymitch can’t understand, but he assumes Finnick translates correctly when he snarls.

“Don’t, you stupid girl.”

The District One girl is the next one to make up her mind, jumping in with greater hesitancy, before starting to clumsily paddle her way to land.

“Where the hell did your tribute learn to swim?” Brutus snarls, standing at his chair. “You been cheating, twelve?”

“How do you mean, Brutus?” Katniss asks innocently. “You aren’t suggesting we trained our tributes beforehand, are you?”

The obvious invitation to hypocrisy clearly pisses him off, and he drops back into his seat to watch his screens with a wordless snarl.

Cara makes it into the mouth of the golden horn as other tributes start dropping into the water. She snatches up the bow and arrow which lies near the entrance and then looks like a Capitol kid on their birthday when she sees the belt of throwing knives. She doesn’t hear Kol enter on the other side, snatching up the net and the tridents which were obviously meant for him. 

But she does hear when he makes a movement towards her and for a moment Haymitch fears she will throw the knife before she realizes its him. On the other side of the horn, Penn makes it to the island.

Finnick and Haymitch both end up on their feet, though Haymitch doubts either of them remember doing so. Kol and Cara are facing each other down, both waiting for the other’s reaction. The TV in front of them is focused on them while Claudius gleefully narrates, reminding everyone of their scores.

“You can swim,” Kol observes.

“I’m a quick learner,” Cara answers dryly. Haymitch is not the only one to snort at the understatement.

“I can see that,” Kol nods. “Got a new look?”

“Felt like a change,” Cara shrugs. “You must be liking the arena so far.”

Finnick swears and Haymitch frowns, wondering if Cara did something he hadn’t noticed yet. But then he realizes a slightly out of breath, dripping wet Penny has made it to the mouth. She is still perhaps five yards from where Cara and Kol are facing off. Neither have noticed her yet and Augustus Braun lets out a whoop from the first table.

Satin has made it to the mouth as well, stepping carefully to quietly grab the dagger nearest to her. Mags makes a strangled sound as Satin prepares to plunge it into Penn’s back.

Almost as if she heard Mags, Cara looks up and reacts faster than any of them - Kol, Satin, Augustus, Haymitch - can react. Before Satin even finishes raising the dagger, Cara’s knife plunges dead center between her eyes.

“No!” Augustus snarls, jumping to his feet; but they almost can’t hear over the sound of Penn’s screams. 

Penn is splattered with blood and probable brain matter. Kol is stunned, trident lowering. He moves a split second after Cara dives forward. He yanks Penn back while Cara - calm face in place but with a manic look in her eyes - pulls the knife from Satin’s face and grabs the dagger from her hand.

“She’s insane!” Cashmere yells, furious. 

“She got a one!” Brutus roars. “Filthy _cheaters_.”

Johanna, sitting at her own table and picking at her nails looks up at that. “Yeah, we’ve never seen this trick done before,” she says, sounding mildly bored. Both her tributes are still on their metal plates, though one is testing the water with a foot and contemplating jumping in.

The main screen is focused on Cara again, who hasn’t fully straightened while the tribute male from six is approaching with a raised dagger.

“Duck,” Kol says.

Cara obeys without question, dropping to the bloody sand without seeming to notice how it soaks into her hands.

Kol’s trident plunges into the tribute's stomach. At the table in front of them, the morphlings turn away from the screen - quietly murmuring nonsense to each other.

Kol and Cara move around each other like a well-oiled machine. Haymitch could almost believe they had practiced together before. Cara covers him and Penn while Kol retrieves his trident.

Cara pushes the dagger she took from Satin into Penn’s hands. 

“Stab first, question later,” she says, but does not wait to see Penn’s shaking nod. Cara’s focus is out of the mouth to where Slate has reached land and has his sight focused on her. Paris makes land and stumbles, shouting as he sees his cousin’s body beside Cara.

“Come on, boy,” Brutus snarls.

Haymitch’s attention is on their second screen, however. It is the one that has capitvated Katniss’s attention as well. Rory has not budged, tense and gritting his teeth. Knowing the kid, he is clearly terrified but masking it.

“He can’t swim,” Katniss murmurs.

“The belts are flotation devices,” Peeta groans, realizing what several other tributes have realized while they swim for the beach.

“Cara will find me,” Rory mutters and he sounds so certain, so full of faith that she will come for him. Some of the tension in his shoulders relaxes and Haymitch is furious because the boy is right - assuming she makes it out of there.

Haymitch nearly jumps out of his skin, reaching for the dagger he doesn’t have, when a hand touches his arm. But when he turns it is only Effie. She still wears her gold wig, but her gold makeup is halfheartedly done. He can see how pale she looks underneath it.

“What can I do?” She asks.

“Man the phones,” he says, turning back to the screens.

Kol and Cara are discussing clearing out. Shimmer has joined Paris and there are now three careers closing in.

“Check your stance,” Katniss mutters and Cara lets the arrow fly.

Haymitch thinks its missed until Augustus yells again and he realizes the arrow planted itself in Paris’s foot. Haymitch doubts that’s where she was aiming, but it succeeds in stopping him.

Paris, apparently an idiot, yanks the arrow out before he dives into the water and starts swimming for shore.

“Coward,” Brutus snarls, while Kol takes a position next to Cara.

“Come on, come on,” Beetee mutters from the Three Table.

“Tick, tock,” Wiress mumbles. “Tick, tock.”

I realize what has their attention when Lafferty breaks around the side and into the mouth, skidding to a stop as he is faced with three weapons of various levels of danger. He holds his hands up but speaks to Kol.

“I’ve got to find something.”

Kol nods but Cara uses exactly the kind of language Haymitch shouldn’t be using. But she sends off an arrow at Slate. She apparently checks her stance this time, because Katniss doesn’t say anything. It would have landed too, Haymitch thinks, if Slate hadn’t dived into the water as well.

Behind them, Lafferty almost falls over himself grabbing a small metal rod and a dagger near at hand.

Shimmer is too close for comfort when Cara snarls to Lafferty, “Time to go.”

Lafferty doesn’t seem inclined to argue and Kol all but throws Penn at Cara.

“I’ll cover,” he says and Cara doesn’t fight him. She takes off running, seeming impatient at having to herd the slower Penn and Lafferty. Somewhere in the background, Haymitch hears Templesmith wondering if she will abandon her allies.

It seems like they might actually make it when Cara jolts to a stop, spotting Rory; one spoke over and waiting for her. She doesn’t know this of course, but Rory seems just as confident that she will as he watches on. 

“Go!” She snarls at the two tributes with her. They hesitate, but Lafferty pulls Penn back towards land while Cara flies back towards the island, clearly running to the closest land she can get before diving in after Rory.

Kol looks exasperated and furious, Finnick swears, but Shimmer seems to reevaluate her odds and dives into the water.

“Rory. Go after them,” Cara bites out. She sprints past him and down the spoke, about to dive in when Kol grabs her. For a second, Haymitch thinks she’ll gut him.

“I’ve got him,” he argues and Cara seems to sour at this idea until she realizes Slate is running towards them, now armed with a sword.

The entire viewing center is holding their breath. Shimmer is pulling herself onto the beach and looks back to see Slate advancing. With a feral grin, she runs to the far end of their spoke.

Cara notices this at the same moment Kol notices Joan, who seems torn as to what she can do - armed with a spear and too far to help. She had apparently slipped in behind when it had looked like they were in the clear, planning on meeting them on the beach.

Cara has her bow and fires an arrow, narrowly missing Shimmer as she ducks and rolls.

Lafferty and Penn are on the beach, Penn covering her mouth with the hand not holding a knife too big for her body. Lafferty is pulling her back towards the cover of the trees. But Penn rips herself away from him and dives back into the water, swimming towards Rory herself.

Cara shouts for Joan to cover them and Joan does not look inclined to listen when Kol cuts them both off.

“I’ve got her, get the kid!”

Cara looks as confused as everyone else seems to be - Claudius trying to reason out what Kol’s strategy could be, if perhaps the goal is to separate the two and pick them off individually. Similar mutterings are passing through the viewing center.

“Smooth, kid,” Johanna mutters.

Cara doesn’t take the time to question, firing another arrow that this time slices into Shimmer’s shoulder, nearly causing her to drop her dagger. When Cara tosses the bow back over her shoulder and grabs a knife, Shimmer’s gaze falls upon Satin’s body beyond them. 

“Does this count as our first date?” Kol jokes, back to back with Cara. Katniss groans at the joke.

“You haven’t even gotten me dinner yet,” Cara dismisses.

“You pulling this shit again, Twelve?” Brutus jeers.

“Cara is so far out of Kol’s league,” Finnick intercepts calmly.

While this has gone on, Shimmer apparently judges the confrontation not worth it and dives back into the water. Cara catches sight of Joan helping Penn and Rory out of the water.

“Kol, time to go!”

Kol and Slate, however, are caught staring each other down. Kol has the evident advantage, but Slate the greater incentive of his hatred of Cara. 

Shimmer drags herself out of the water behind Slate.

“Slate, let’s go!” She snaps.

“Stop, you idiot!” Augustus mutters and none of us know what he is talking about until the Capitol footage hones in on where Lafferty is standing nervously by the edge of the trees, watching as Joan, Rory, and Penn sprint towards them.

Behind him Paris, is limping forward, raising the arrow pulled from his foot with a manic expression. He looks pale, eyes blown wide with sweat dripping down his temple. For a minor injury, Haymitch glances over at Augustus’s screens to see his medic color moving into the orange.

Joan sees him stepping out of the trees and her eyes fly wide. “No!”

Paris has already brought the arrow, plunging it’s tip into Lafferty’s back. 

Lafferty shouts in pain, dropping to his knees while Joan raises the spear she is carrying. Paris stumbles back into the trees, limping and weaving as much as he can to lose their trail. 

Joan, not knowing about Paris’s injury and not knowing if he’s alone, slides an arm under Lafferty’s shoulder and drags him up. 

“Come on, they’ll catch up,” she says to the two wide-eyed kids. “We need to get cover.” 

“Don’t,” Gwinn groans as they step into the trees.

Cara and Kol have made it to the beach, two spokes down. 

“They’re probably in the trees,” Cara says, biting her lip.

“We’ll find them,” Kol agrees, looking less confident than he sounds.

Behind them, the cornucopia stands abandoned except for the two remaining careers. All others had either made it to the woods or would be there soon. 

Two cannons sound off. The bloodbath is over and it is far too quiet for the Capitol’s taste. Haymitch doesn’t want to think what will be done to get the Capitol their blood.

The footage switches over to Paris, who has fallen to the forest floor maybe fifty yards from where Joan has stopped to give medical attention to Lafferty.

Lafferty’s injuries aren’t overly serious, Templesmith explains. It isn’t deep and the blood loss won’t be severe. The biggest danger is infection.

Cara’s arrow, however, nicked an artery. Paris’s eyes fall closed and after another moment, another cannon sounds.

Augustus swears, knocking his table over as he stands and storms from the room.


	2. Daybreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gale fulfills his promise to Cara.  
> (set the morning after the Reaping)

He waited until just before dawn on the day after the Reaping before he went to fulfill his promise to Cara Lynnwood. The day before had been spent with his family. They had been going to spend it at Katniss’s house, with her mother. Hannah Everdeen would not have to be alone while her both her daughters went to the Capitol with no guarantee of return. 

But after the bombshell of Cara Lynnwood volunteering, none of them felt comfortable around each other. The Everdeens felt too guilty for their good fortune and the Hawthorne’s too aware of their pity. They had instead retreated back to their own ramshackle home and sat around the table; struggling to answer Posey's questions about why Rory had to leave.

Gale had never felt more useless.

He had pulled himself from the bed he usually shared with Rory, one that was now occupied by Vick, at an hour that wasn't so unusual. He had always slipped away before dawn in order to hunt. But this time he set his path along the road that led to Merchants’ Row - the street where the merchant's had their shops, usually living in the apartment above. The road was quiet, the apartments dark except for the candles he saw burning above the bakery.The stars were just starting to wink out, replaced by a softer velvet blue when he reached what he recognized as the tanner’s place.

Once or twice, early on when he was hunting with Katniss, they had tried to sell hides to Tobiah Keeney. They figured they would make more selling separately to the butcher and tanner. It might have been true, but after the second time they received slurs and a slammed door in _addition_ to coin, they had decided it would be better to deal with the butcher alone. Let her worry about that wretched man.

When he followed Cara’s directions to the shed built off the tanning house, his opinion of that man somehow managed to sink lower. It was that opinion that had made him decide not to ask the tanner if he could fetch something of Cara’s. He would rather risk the foul man calling the peacekeepers than talk to him and risk the man taking whatever Cara had of value. Fortunately, the toolshed sat behind the tanning building and out of sight of the main house.

There was no lock on the door, though it looked like there was a spot for a padlock that had long since rusted through. He tried to imagine a young girl - younger even than the one he had encountered in the woods - living here and the thought sickened him. The door slid open far too easily and he wondered how she slept at night.

Inside he could easily place one hand on the door and the other on the opposite wall. If he stood the other way, his reach would just fall short. It was sparsely furnished. A small bed was pushed against the far wall, but it seemed generous to dub it that. It looked like she had found cinderblocks and a plank of wood to form the frame. Perhaps Tobiah had been the one generous enough to give her the threadbare mattress or she had somehow scrounged it up elsewhere. Her pillow looked handmade by talentless hands and her blankets seemed more like several long pieces of fabric. 

For adornment, some pretty white fabric had been turned into makeshift curtains for her one small window. Looking at it, he suspected it was made from old clothes she had found at the Hob. She had one small shelf which had only two books, some dried flowers, and other odd and end things he guessed she had found abandoned in the woods - worn pieces of colorful glass, broken and ancient cutlery, an arrowhead he thought might come from him or Katniss. Looking closer now, he could see more flowers tied and hanging from her curtain window, drying just below the light of dawn. 

Far more interesting than any of this were the small pieces of leather that she had pinned to her wall. She was an artist, he realized now. She had carved and cut various designs into the scraps of leather she managed to sneak away from Tobiah Keeney’s gaze. Or perhaps they were made by her own hand from her own hunts. Regardless, one piece showed the flowers like the ones that sat dried on her shelves. Another showed a rough landscape of the creek she had brought him to on the night they met.

Running his finger over the gestural lines of the water, he wonders why he never brought Catnip. She’d have loved it. Plenty of food. A place to swim besides the lake she had shared with her father. But even though he hadn’t seen the girl again, it had felt wrong somehow to take Katniss there. It wasn’t his to share. Cara had always respected their places in the woods, whether they’d known she was there or not. He felt that he couldn’t give her any less.

Cara’s window is too old and warped for him to make out much, but it does show that dawn has broken and he wants to be gone before Tobiah Keeney has the chance to realize his absent family member has a guest.

He moves to the bed, pulling out the trunk Cara had told him would be there. When he opens it, the recipe book sits on top, next to what he recognizes as a victor’s crown. Her grandmother’s. It could sell for a fair price if it was melted down, but even looking at it makes his skin burn so he pulls out the book and is about to slam the trunk closed when he notices the quilt it sits atop.

It’s clearly handmade, thick, probably what has kept her alive in the winter. He can’t think about her coming back alive, not with what it would mean for Rory. But he can’t stomach the tanner getting his hands on this, knowing he would sell it for the lowest first offer. So he pulls out the quilt before shutting the trunk and pushing it back under the bed.

He counts the floorboards to where Cara said the loose one would be, prying it up. He doesn't count the money in her box, but he does hear the coins inside. At a different point in time, he might be excited. He could probably afford to pick up something sweet at the Hob for Posey and Vick; were the Hob still standing. But that makes him think about the maple syrup Rory loves and his stomach turns. So he stuffs the box into the quilt with the book and his hand goes to the door. Before he opens it, his eyes fall upon the river landscape once more.

He carefully pulls it off the wall and places it in between the pages of Cara’s family book. Then he opens the door and slips away.

He is back at home, slipping Cara’s things under the bed, before his Ma ever opens her eyes.


	3. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch and Peeta are awake when the fog rolls in.

There is less anger than Haymitch expects when the ‘bloodbath’ turns out to be so incredibly anticlimactic. Any Hunger Games that begins with fewer than five deaths is generally considered a boring year, but this year only the gamemakers seem too bothered. 

There are several reasons for this, Haymitch suspects. At least in part, it is probably the promise of Katniss and Peeta’s wedding; which is set to be held as soon as the Victor is crowned and able to attend. But it is also because of the upstart of the 75th Games: District One, both dead within the first hour and both killed by Cara Lynnwood - the girl with the one.

There has been quite a lot of talk about Cara’s score, and Haymitch has ignored most of it. His attention has been focused on the screens in front of him and the counter on the left side of the live footage.

It is the end of the first day; the recaps just covered and the dead tributes already displayed on the sky. The tally that currently holds his attention is the kill tally - the one that marks how many kills each victor has. Only three are on the board now - Cara, Kol, and Slate. It’s what is now being discussed by Claudius Templesmith and a Games historian. Slate only barely made it to the board, after all. Whereas the underdog girl from Twelve has over half of all the tribute kills so far.

Haymitch had been surprised at first that they weren’t showing the panic attack Cara was currently having. On his screen, Cara rocked herself and muffled her sobs with her fist. Peeta had walked away with the excuse of finding food, but Haymitch suspected he didn’t want to see it. In contrast, Katniss’s eyes were glued.

But with the replays they’d chosen, Haymitch understood their play. Marking Cara a helpless damsel didn’t work. The districts hadn’t bought it and she hadn’t been finished by the careers like they’d thought. So they’d switched tactics, trying to paint her as a brutalistic career. They replayed her serene expression when she threw a knife through Satin’s head, into the boy from Seven’s neck. Her comment about him ‘not being a threat’ - naturally excluding the context of her saying he shouldn’t have had to die. They particularly liked to replay her calmly explaining to Rory that, no, she did not regret it.

Perhaps by painting her as the sort of sadistic Games enthusiasts that came out of One and Two, they hoped to convince the Districts that she was not their hero - she belonged to the Capitol. She was one of them. It was succeeding about as well as Katniss’s wedding was working to dispel the Mockingjay - in that Eight had been actively rebelling again ever since Slate had killed their boy.

They did come back to live footage when Cara was clutching the ring she wore around her neck like a lifeline. This had become a particularly popular feature for the Capitol citizens. At first there had been a rather rabid group shipping Cara and Kol, but a new group was born the moment Panem saw the ring. All kinds of outlandish theories had been formed about the identity of her lover from Twelve. The one who had given her a promise, pleading for her to return to them when the Games was over so they could have their own happy ending.

Claudius Templesmith had moved on to interviewing a body language expert, who was analyzing the earlier conversation between Kol and Cara to determine that there really was no romance between the two of them and that Cara certainly had a paramour waiting for her in Twelve. The ulterior motive wasn’t hard to spot, with one of motive sitting next to him and the other trying to find lamb stew.

Katniss didn’t seem to be paying attention to the talk show, however. Her gaze was still entirely focused on Cara and the ring she now clutched in her sleep. Given the look on Katniss’s face, Haymitch was pretty sure she knew whose it was - and he could infer the rest.

Apparently, it wasn’t that much of a stretch because the ‘body language expert’ leaped upon a similar idea. Perhaps her lover was none other than Gale Hawthorne; famous cousin of Katniss Everdeen and older brother to the other Twelve tribute. They then moved to the Capitol streets to interview Cara’s fans, who were all tearfully leaping upon the idea that Cara actually volunteered in order to save her true love’s brother. Within an hour of Cara falling asleep, an _anonymous source_ had confirmed that Gale Hawthorne had been the only person to visit Cara before she left the District. 

By the time that Peeta had returned with three bowls of lamb stew and three hot chocolates, public opinion had been cemented into fact: Cara Lynnwood and Gale Hawthorne were passionately in love and probably engaged.

Haymitch didn’t need to be a body language expert to read the tension between Katniss and Peeta.

On screen, a girl wearing an imitation of Cara’s gray parade dress and waving sparklers, points out that if Cara wins, the next time she sees Gale will be at Katniss’s wedding.

Katniss stands, nearly knocking over her chair in the process.

“I’m going to take a nap in one of the rooms,” she says stiffly, before hurrying away with her shoulders at her ears.

Peeta partially stands before he pauses, looking between where Katniss had disappeared too and her abandoned bowl of stew.

“I’m not an expert on women,” Haymitch says, eyes casting between Cara and Rory’s sleeping forms. “But I think this is a moment where you leave it alone.”

Peeta isn’t left with much room to argue because, only a couple minutes after the fan’s comment, their phone begins ringing off the hook. Haymitch leaves it to Peeta, both to distract him and because Peeta is definitely much better at talking to people than Haymitch. 

“The best thing you can do to make sure she’s at our wedding,” Peeta says with forced cheer, “is to sponsor our tributes. I promise we’re doing everything we can to get them home.”

This statement is repeated over and over in Haymitch’s ear as the night hour grows later. Effie had long since retreated to her apartment for sleep and most of the mentors were on rotations for the night shift. Exhausted himself, he still couldn’t imagine sleeping. His head was pounding, his hands were shaking, and Cara and Rory were sleeping on. Haymitch wonders if any of these people trying to bring Cara home to Gale understand what that means for Rory.

He should send the boy to bed too, he thinks. And he is just about to suggest it when Finnick, a couple tables down in their three-four-five-twelve chain, starts swearing.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he whispers shrilly, standing up and hands frantically moving around to do _nothing_. 

Haymitch tries to look closer at his own screen, but the angle won’t give him anything. But then the live footage switches over and Peeta’s voice dies in the middle of his sentence.

Behind their tributes, behind where Joan currently sits keeping watch on the direction their enemies would come, a heavy fog is drifting in. They’ve all lived through too many games to believe it just fog.

Joan sits up straighter, sniffing the air. But she only starts turning when the tendrils of fog are already tickling at her back.


	4. Witching Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gale's perspective of the fog incident. Discretion is the better part of valor.

Gale Hawthorne couldn’t sleep after his brother left. This was partially due to his fears for Rory’s life, of course. But it was also due to the fact that he had shared a bed with Rory for the last twelve years and could barely remember a night where he slept without knobbly knees and elbows digging into his side. Vick had taken to joining him at night, but his youngest brother was such a light sleeper it didn’t change much. He was pretty sure he got more sleep than their mother though.

It was why he was laying there, in the shadows of their too-small hut, watching the way the familiar shapes played off the boards. It was why he was awake when the pounding came on their door. He nearly fell out of the bed, nearly taking Vick with him, in his hurry to the door. In the time it took to wrench it open, Hazelle was up and had already thrown on a jacket and one shoe.

He didn’t recognize the boy at first. He could have been Rory, if you’d leeched all the color out of him and turned it sandy-yellow. When he checked off that it was definitely not a Mellarke boy - too tall, too gangly - it took him a second to reason out why a merchant kid would be standing on their doorstep.

“You’re one of the tanner's boys?” He surmised.

“Roe Keeney,” he nods, speaking quickly. “You need to get to the square, something's happening.”

Yanking on his boots, he hears Hazelle speaking to Vick in a quiet voice - telling him to stay, watch their sister in spite of his protests. They were out the door within a minute, following along after Roe. They didn’t have a reliable TV of their own and they preferred not having Posey watching the footage when it was avoidable. 

It was a chilly night for summer and Roe occasionally stumbled over the rocks that Hazelle and Gale both knew to step over. He tried to rein in his loathing, both for Roe’s privileged life and for what he had seen when he went to fulfill his promise and gather Cara’s things. But he couldn’t keep all of the scorn from his voice.

“What were you doing in the square?”

“Da doesn’t like the Games playing in the house,” Roe said, somehow squirming in his shoes even as they hurried towards the square where the live footage would be playing until the end of the games. “I’ve been going there to watch.”

“I don’t like Posey and Vick seeing it either,” Hazelle says fairly.

“I don’t think that’s why,” Gale says dryly and Roe doesn’t even try to disagree.

When they turn the corner to the square, Gale’s feet turn to lead and he almost trips himself.

The footage is centered around that stupid _fucking_ alliance - he had wanted to _strangle_ Lynnwood for getting Rory caught up in it. But they were running through the jungle, stumbling and chased by an eery white fog. To his and Hazelle’s visible relief, Rory was the farthest ahead and seeming the least affected. But Cara was in the back, face contorted and spasms going up her right am. Her left was around the boy from Three, helping that Capitol celebrity from Five pull him along.

Delly Cartwright waves them over and Roe jogs to her side, apparently familiar with her.

“Rory was the one to wake Cara up,” she explains when Gale and Hazelle have reluctantly joined them - though Hazelle’s eyes hadn’t left the sight of her boy running for his life. “But Cara practically threw him down the slope. Didn’t let him wait for the others.

Even as they watch, Rory tries to stop and turn back for them. In response, Cara snarls in a shredded voice.

“ _Rory Hawthorne_ , if you take a step this way I’m shoving an entire pine tree up your _arse_.”

The seriousness of this threat is enough to actually make Rory pick up speed and a strangled laugh chokes out of their mother. Gale wraps an arm around her shoulders and she leans into him. In spite of his anger over the alliance, he is grateful to Cara. 

While they watch, the announcer gleefully explains the fog; a nerve agent designed to cause blistering pain, muscle spasms, seizures, and (if under prolonged exposure) cardiac arrest.

From the look on Cara’s face, he is guessing she has the worst of it.

“She went back for Joan and Lafferty,” Delly explains in a whisper. “That’s why she’s so far behind.”

“Oh, gods above,” Hazelle whispers.

The muscle spasms cause Cara to drop her knife, but she is still strapped with other weapons and other tributes are definitely not the threat at hand.

“Oh, Gale,” Delly whispers. “I should warn you.”

“I don’t care, Delly,” he says, voice more caustic than it should be for a girl who really is trying to be helpful.

“No, Gale, you don’t get it,” she says urgently. “The Capitol, they think you and Cara-”

She is interrupted when two Capitol reporters ( _on the ground in District Twelve!_ ) catch sight of him and his mother.

“Gale Hawthorne!” The woman crows, racing towards them.

Gale remembers the ordeal from last time - playing to the cameras as Katniss’s cousin while she played house with Mellarke, all so they could bring her home. He is fury burns in the center of his chest. His brother is running for his life and they won’t even leave them alone then. He knows he can’t do what he wants - which is to tell them to fuck off - so he settles for ignoring them.

“Gale Hawthorne, how does it feel to see your brother and the love of your life fleeing for their lives?”

“Did you know that she was going to volunteer to save your brother beforehand?” The other one eagerly asks. The camera is shoved in his face and he is both angry and absolutely confused. This makes even less sense than when he realized he had to be Katniss’s ‘cousin’ last year. 

Behind them, on the screen, the kid - the girl from Four - trips; but it looks like she sprained her ankle rather than the muscle spasms that are affecting Cara and the Joan girl. The boy from Four is now dragging the other one along. 

He swears when Cara stops without hesitation, pulling the girl up with her and - when it was clear she couldn’t walk on it - tosses her over her back. It can’t be easy, since it doesn’t look like her arms are much good and the kid has to be at least as tall as her, but she keeps running.

Why didn’t she just leave her? No one would blame her. And the longer the kid lives the more likely it is that Cara or Rory will be the ones to have to handle it.

The reporters are still talking to him, but he couldn’t tell you what they were saying if he had been asked.

A small scream sounds behind him (Delly, he guesses) when Cara’s leg gives out the first time. Somehow, Gale has _no idea how_ , she manages to get back up without her arms and with only one good leg and keep going - still carrying that kid on her back.

The kid yells for her district partner just before Cara goes down again and he feels a spike of white hot fury - the kid calling for a rescue when Cara is twitching on the ground, still struggling to rise and save her undeserving ass.

But just as the Four boy throws the guy he was helping onto Joan Tripp, a figure flies past them - all black hair and knobbly knees.

“No, you _stupid_ boy!” Cara wheezes, even as the fog starts crawling up her legs.

Gale agrees, but he can’t help the spike of pride running up his spine. 

“You can shove a pine tree up my arse when we get out of here,” he promises with a grin, already dragging her forward. He has to take most of her weight, thankfully barely affected by the fog while spasms rack Cara’s body to where she can barely run. 

Her legs start giving out again when a spasm runs down Rory’s body.

“Go,” Cara urges. “Just run.”

Given how her voice is barely a croak, Gale isn’t sure if Rory is ignoring her or just didn’t hear. It almost seems like Cara’s efforts to keep throwing her failing body forward are because she knows Rory won’t leave her even if she collapses. Up ahead, Tripp and the Three boy go down and his opinion of Four is cemented when they seem to ignore them.

His contempt for them is replaced by confusion when they turn back instead. Kol instructs Rory to run ahead and help them, promising he would take care of Cara. Gale can’t fathom why Rory would believe him, but without hesitation, he passes Cara onto him. Only increasing Gale's confusion, the girl from Four drops immediately from the boy’s back; the boy that almost forces Cara up instead.

With the other girl stumbling, falling down every other step, the Four boy is moving forward with Cara. Why would he do that? Why would the girl? They must know that it could be a death sentence for the kid. Are they just idiots?

But no, he remembers the way Cara and the four boy had worked out the water problem within hours - before any of the other tributes had figured out it wouldn’t be in rivers or ponds.

So why?

The question isn’t important. On the screen, Tripp and Three both go down and Rory doesn’t leave them, still trying to pull them forward.

“Just leave them!” He urges, even knowing Rory can’t hear him. “Just run, kid!”

Behind them, Four goes down, Cara with him, and the girl only a few feet behind. They keep trying to drag themselves forward, but Cara’s movements aren’t much better than aimless thrashing. Rory notices before any of them do - even in Twelve.

“It’s stopped,” Rory croaks. And it has. A solid wall of fog has formed behind them, Claudius Templesmith happily explaining the symptoms they must all be experiencing. Excruciating pain being the worst of it.

They drag themselves forward, Cara moving slowest, barely keeping her face off the ground. Four seems to be slowing himself to keep pace with her, keeping a wary eye on the monkey muttations that are watching them from the trees. But they make it onto the beach without further incident. 

Rory makes it to the water first, gasping in pain. Templesmith explains that the saltwater will extract the toxins - should they be capable of enduring the pain that comes with it. Tripp and Three make it soon after, but Rory has barely allowed the water around him to start turning a cloudy white before he is stumbling back to where Cara has made it. 

When her hand touches the water, she buries her mouth in sand and Gale flinches at the _scream_ that is muffled; presumably in a pointless attempt at avoiding further attention. They’re all making so much noise, he isn’t sure why the remaining careers haven’t arrived already.

According to Templesmith, the severity of Cara’s condition will be critical within the next few minutes, enough that her heart will give out within ten if she doesn’t make it into the water. She is moving, inch by inch, still muffling her cries of pain. It seems like she has given up when her shoulder hits the water.

Rory pushes past the others who are all also dragging themselves into the water to where Cara might not even be conscious. Templesmith’s visiting medical expert expresses confusion - Rory hadn’t fully cleansed himself, should still be in pain - and therefore doesn’t understand why he has gone to help Cara. Probably because he can’t bear seeing his brother’s love this way.

Wait, _what_?

He and Hazelle exchange looks, both confused and Hazelle a little questioning. She sighs in exasperation when Gale gives the tiniest shake of his head.

He turns back, only just now realizing the cameras are _still_ in his face.

On screen, Rory is anxiously submerging most of Cara’s body - covering her mouth to muffle the scream of pain. But slowly, the neurotoxins seep from their bodies and into the water. Rory relaxing as his own pain is lessened. He starts to pour water over her face, washing away sand and poison.

Cara eventually opens her eyes, looking up at Rory in confusion. The medical expert explains the effects on brain function and posits that she perhaps things Rory is his older brother Gale.

“You’ve got to go under,” Rory explains, apparently ignoring that advice even as Joan, Three, and the Four girl have already done so. 

Dazed and clearly not all there, she nods and allows him to help push her under the surface. When she is back up, coughing, gagging, and spitting up white-stained water, she looks around and immediately takes inventory of Rory’s state - drooping eye, twitching shoulder, clearly unwell state. 

“Stupid Hawthorne boys,” she mutters angrily and Gale is pretty sure if Rory hadn't immediately gone under, she’d have held him under - possibly longer than needed.

Gale isn’t sure exactly what he did to earn the inclusion of the statement, but he is growing more and more aware of the attention being turned on him from those gathered in the square. Now that their tributes were out of the woods (to use the phrase), they seemed much more interested in _Gale_ than they should be.

“When did you give Cara the ring?” One of the reporters asks eagerly. “Was it right before she left or when she told you she was going for Rory?”

Anger bubbles up in his chest again. Was Cara _using_ that ring to get sympathy?

“Did she _tell_ someone about the ring?” He demands, turning to Roe.

Roe looks exasperated and immediately slaps a hand over his eyes.

“Oh, _no_ , Gale,” Delly frets.

Behind him, the two reporters explode.


	5. Gloaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morelle Lynnwood's musings and remembrances on the night she died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morelle Lynnwood is not a canon character, sorry for not staying consistent here. Cara's grandmother's name was changed from Addelise to Morelle to stay more consistent with 12 vibes. This is also the shortest one, as it wasn't really intended to be one of these one shots. I wrote it awhile back to help me make sense of Cara's grandmother and I decided to post it since I don't think what is revealed in it will ever make it into the main story but I think is helpful in understanding Cara's childhood.

Morelle Lynnwood had always loved her old house in Victor’s Village. It had been precisely thirty Games since her own and while the other empty houses on Victor’s Village were updated and modernized, she always refused to leave her home long enough for them to renovate. It was outdated compared to the nicer ones that surrounded it and her escort bitterly complained whenever she returned for promotional events for the games. But Morelle Lynnwood was fond of her comfort, not of style. 

She had never been ashamed to enjoy the luxury that came from her status, though often she felt helpless when she saw the children going hungry in the Seam. She had her own memories from that place; the hunger pains, the cold winters. She hadn’t lived there long. She’d only been seven when her parents died and she was sent to the community home. To some extent, the Games saved her life. She was reaped at the age of 15 and the following winter a flu finished off most of her friends still left in the home.

Yes, Morelle Lynnwood was very familiar with death as she had mentored 61 others to their own. Haymitch carried it harder, she knew. He was sensitive in a way Morelle had never been. He could name every tribute they had lost. Morelle did her best to forget them once she helped their families bury them.

They all coped in their own way. Morelle herself had coped very differently early on. In fact, she had coped with many, many victors, Capitolites, and even a few in District 12. Morelle had her suspicions that it had been coping with a Victor from District Two in particular that led to Fava’s birth just after the 41st games, though she couldn’t really be sure.

Morelle had survived hunger, survived the home, survived the 37th Hunger Games, survived the trauma, survived the eight children she watched die, and survived the charade of baby showers put on by the Capitol. The day Fava was put in her arms, a perfect carbon copy of herself, Morelle decided her little girl would not have to be a survivor. She would never know hunger, loss, or grief. For a while she was even able to keep that promise.

Fava had thrived in the spotlight of the Capitol while she was too young to understand it, while Morelle could keep her away from the truth behind the Games. But as she grew older, she watched reality dawn on her daughter. She watched her daughter watch the friends she’d made on her mother’s victory tours - the children and grandchildren of victors - as they one by one went into the arena and never came back.

Fava was fifteen the first time an interviewer asked her what her strategy would be in the arena, when designers just starting out began sketching parade uniforms modeled after her. Fava was fifteen when Morelle knew she had made a mistake. Fava was fifteen when she made sure the whole Capitol knew she was pregnant. Fava was sixteen at her last Reaping when she was four months pregnant. She was sixteen when she gave birth and two weeks later she was sixteen when she was dead.

Morelle was 35 with no daughter and a grandchild in her arms. She still loved luxury, but she no longer made promises she couldn’t keep. So she raised a grandchild, hidden away in the attic, who was just like her: a survivor. She hid books under the floorboards full of forbidden stories so that her grandchild would grow up with forbidden thoughts and the common sense to keep them quiet. She perfected her talent and Morelle’s paintings were sought after throughout the Capitol and the districts. If some of her paintings contained secrets of their own, passed on in the hope of her granddaughter never seeing the arena, President Snow need be none the wiser.

Her thirtieth anniversary tour wasn’t quite as much of an affair as it might have been. She was a has-been from thirty years before and Augustus Braun was the Capitol’s shiniest new toy. Her granddaughter spiked all the drinks at the Capitol ball with vinegar and dumped glitter on a boy from Four. Then Snow brought her to his office to commission a painting, showed her a dozen shattered frames, and made her an offer.

Morelle Lynnwood has seen 30 games since her own. She had witnessed the death of 61 of her own tributes. She had stood at Fava’s funeral, holding her child’s infant daughter, and pretended not to know she was murdered. She lived in a grand, outdated house with ugly purple walls and at least a hundred books under the floorboards.

Ever one for luxury, she ran a bath when they returned to Twelve. She used all the oils and salts she normally reserved for special occasions and cooked herself and her granddaughter the finest dinner. She made sure the family recipe book was out on the table, her granddaughter’s favorite quilt beside it. Then she drank the vial Snow had given her.

As she closed her eyes for the last time, she thought about how her granddaughter would never be an icon. She would never know luxury or ease. It was quite possible she would never see the fall of a nation that Morelle had spent ten years working towards. She would be forgotten. She would live. Like Morelle, Cara Lynnwood would survive.


End file.
